Kiku had linked in his Pearl game.
Alfred gritted his teeth and switched Pokemon, hoping desperately that his Flygon would save the day. By the look that crossed Kiku's face, he knew that he had already lost the battle. Figures—traded up his Pokemon, trained them like crazy, and it didn't even matter. Kiku had predicted everything.
A computer dinged behind them. Alfred looked from his game to Kiku, but he knew it didn't matter. He checked the alert.
"Just another unidentified aircraft."
Kiku let out a hum and tapped something. Alfred closed his eyes when he heard his Flygon let out a cry of defeat.
It retrospect, they should have checked out the news report thoroughly; they were to categorize every suspicious, potentially magically-induced report that happened to wander its way into the mortal news. They even had a fancy plaque on the door that read: Mortal First-Response and Processing Unit.
Alfred and Kiku's office was in the basement. It was right before the storage unit, which was almost as bad as being right before the bathroom. Occasionally, someone would wander down to take something from storage.
Alfred and Kiku never stopped them. Alfred and Kiku got whatever mortal device they wanted for research. Alfred and Kiku had all the Pokemon games.
Eventually, Kiku looked up from the screen. He blinked a couple of times at Alfred, before gesturing halfheartedly at the computer. Alfred slumped in his office chair. All he wanted to do was grind so he could finally beat Kiku.
"Aw, man, come on. You always do them better than I do." Alfred pushed off from the ground, rolling to the computer.
"You're the one who always places logging duty on battles," Kiku came out behind him, checking over his shoulder to read the article. "That's… A pretty detailed picture."
Alfred clicked his tongue, enlarging the image. Instead of a blurry picture of an airplane, it was something with huge wings, and a long, pointed tail. While the comments were hypothesizing a new aircraft—perhaps aliens—Alfred thought it looked like…
"A dragon," Kiku breathed, backing away from the computer.
Alfred spun in his chair. "Holy fuck! We have dragons?" He grinned, looking at the computer and Kiku. "Dude, why aren't you smiling?! Aw, man, do you think we could catch it and study it? Oh, my—"
"Did you hear that?"
Alfred frowned. "Uh, no."
A silence hung in the air. Only the computer buzzing behind them made any noise.
"I don't—"
Something roared.
Alfred jumped out of his seat, scrambling to the office door and nearly ripping it off its hinges. Kiku was right behind them as they sprinted down the hallway, heading toward the stairs. They passed the white-washed walls, the various empty cubicles and reached the stairs.
A man was rushing down toward them, head down, out-of-date cloak pulled down low over his head. He stopped and looked up when Alfred and Kiku blocked his way. Mouth set in a grimace—an expression of a man doing something he had to, not that he wanted to.
There was another roar, one that traveled through the cheap plaster and into the soles of Alfred's shoes. There was a crash and the ceiling rattled, and someone screamed.
Alfred swallowed thickly. "You wouldn't happen to be involved with any of the ruckus upstairs, would you?"
"Gilbert."
Alfred looked at Kiku and back to the man. "What?"
Something white came out of the ceiling and fell onto Kiku. He screamed, falling backwards down the stairs. Alfred cursed and half-turned, torn between helping and stopping this man. The man decided for him and gave him a shove.
Alfred screeched and tumbled down the stairs. For a moment there was nothing besides the tumbling florescent lights. Then he was at the bottom of the stair, trying to force air into his lungs. Kiku was kicking and screaming nearby.
A breath. If he could just get a fucking breath he could get up and help—
The man stepped over him. And Alfred saw his face.
"Arthur," Alfred gasped.
Arthur hardly looked down as walked away. The phantom—no, that was afamiliar—detached itself from Kiku and solidified into a form as it followed after him. Arthur seemed to be talking lowly to Gilbert—
"Arthur!" Alfred roared, forcing his aching body to straighten. He nearly fell again as he dragged himself standing, using the wall as a support. "What are youdoing?!"
He felt something knock against his legs and Kiku had crawled over to him. Jagged slashes ran underneath his clothes, but he seemed alive. From the noise upstairs, Kiku was probably a lucky one in the building.
"Alfred," Kiku said, voice oddly devoid of emotion. "We have to leave."
Alfred snarled, but didn't dare leave Kiku. They didn't stand a chance against Arthur and the familiar. Reluctantly, painfully, Alfred tore his gaze away from the retreating forms and focused on Kiku. Later, he would demand an explanation later.
Alfred took a breath and channeled his magic. His muscled tingled and his ribs burned, but after a moment the pain disappeared and Alfred felt light as a feather. He picked up Kiku and through him over his shoulder, too busy focusing to apologize.
The office was destroyed. Fire was eating away at the drywall, and witches were either cowering under desks or lying against walls, not moving. It took all of five minutes to walk through the front door before Alfred's magic failed and he fell to the ground.
"Chalk?" Alfred moaned, curling in on himself.
Kiku grunted, managing to haul himself away from Alfred and search his pockets. Alfred looked at the sky. It was such a nice day, the sun was shining. The field the office building was in was only half on fire, and the smoke was blowing away from the pair of them.
Something smashed, and there was a scream of triumph. A mound of earth grew over them, dirt turning to stone as a flood of white specters filled the sky.
"You didn't seal them in," Alfred said, voice sounding very loud in the small space.